The Wall
by FuturePSotUS
Summary: A short modern one-shot from Elizabeth's POV. Sad but touching, Elizabeth goes on her annual visit to his name.


_Author's Note: This is my first FF so I'd appreciate any feedback, positive or negative. The story is set in present day in Washington, DC at the Vietnam War Memorial. Enjoy!_

The Wall

Once a year, on the anniversary of his death I go to The Wall, I can't help but think of it that way, with caps, The Wall. I bring with me three roses, one for each of the months we knew each other, and I lay them underneath the panel that bears his name. I have long stopped trying to explain to others why I do this, they cannot understand how I can mourn for a man I knew so briefly, they cannot understand how I can mourn for a man after so much time has passed and when I have a family and a life of my own. I have given up trying to explain to them that despite our brief acquaintance I did love him, not like I love my husband now, but I did love him all the same. Also, I don't mourn him all of the time, only one day a year, and for this day I go to The Wall and let him know that I haven't forgotten him, that even though I moved on with my life and found happiness again I still have a place for him in my heart, a place that will never go away.

I bring him three roses and I lay them on the ground and then I stand there. I sometimes trace my fingers across his name but mostly I just stand there and observe the people around me. There are always people at The Wall, some visit to say they have been, others come to seek closure, and still others come simply to be there and experience the feeling of almost complete quiet. I don't know why I come, I say it is because I don't want him to think I've forgotten, but I know he knows that I have not, could not, forget him. Still, I come all the same, every year, without fail. I guess for some strange twisted reason, I enjoy being there, knowing that I am not alone in my suffering. But, then I think, I do not suffer, not all the time. Just for one day a year do I allow myself to wallow in self-pity and the what-if's that accompany any thoughts of our time together.

So, maybe I come to remind myself not to mourn, to live my life and continue to enjoy myself, to laugh every day, smile every day, love every day. Maybe I come to show myself that I got off easy, I did not lose him after three or thirty years of being together, just three months. There are people around me who have lost fathers, sons, and nephews, men they watched grow up, or watched them grow up. But, no, even though we only shared three months together before he was sent away I know that I suffered as much, if not more than them. They have years, lifetimes, of memoires to keep about their loved ones. I have only three months, three precious months, in which to remember.

But, oh, what times we had! He took me to the sea to enjoy the tide pools, on walks in country to take in the rolling hills, and we danced the night away in the city, oblivious to anything that wasn't each other. I have stored all those memories away and treasure each one for a different reason, but I don't allow them to come out except for this one day a year, so maybe that's why I come here, so I can remember. One rose for every month.

I lay the first down-June- I saw him at a party before we officially met. He was talking to his best friend and before I could begin to process how gorgeous he was he insulted me, "I'm sure she's just some hippie freak." But then we met again for real when he approached me on the street for directions after the party that night. I found out later he knew exactly where he was going, he needed just needed an excuse to talk to me, to apologize and start over. I remember.

Then comes the second rose, July, he took me out very early one Sunday to a mystery location; I complained the whole way there not knowing that he had set up an entire old-fashioned picnic, just for me complete with all of my favorite foods and board games for us to enjoy. After we finished eating the rain began and we ran to a nearby inn. Soaking wet and, red as beets, we got a room and for the first time made love. I remember.

Then the last rose, August, we had just come back from our first planned weekend away together when he got the letter telling him he was to leave me. I cried uncontrollably and he held me the entire night telling me everything would be ok and he would be back before I knew it, that we'd be able to pick up right where we left off. He stayed up the whole night before he left making plans for the future, fighting over baby names and the best kind of house to buy.

But when morning came he left. As I remember waving goodbye as he walked out the door I come to the last of our memories together and I'm done. There were letters of course written on the go and in fear but I don't count those in my memories, they seem too distant to count. I've spent several hours now in the cold remembering and I'm done until next year when I will come and remember again, relive all of those moments again. But now it is time to go home, to my husband, my children, my family, my life.


End file.
